


I Know Who I Want To Take Me Home

by annodominique



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Blowjobs, Bottom!Cas, Caring Dean, Come play, Domestic, Domestic destiel, Dry Humping, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Smut, really hot sex, top!dean, workmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 09:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annodominique/pseuds/annodominique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four hours into his new job, Castiel has decided that he's found the biggest asshole he's ever had the misfortune of working with. Never mind that he's also sort of the most attractive person he's ever met, Dean Winchester is still an asshole.</p><p>Or the one where Dean and Cas are new workmates who hate each other's guts, are somehow forced into driving each other crazy because they secretly want to fuck, and they might have fallen in love with each other in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know Who I Want To Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> Took me forever to finish this. But I did it, because I couldn't seem to function well without getting this out of my system. I enjoyed writing this. Warning for some really hot, steamy sex towards the end. Peace out!

Four hours into his new job, Castiel has decided that he's found the biggest asshole he's ever had the misfortune of working with. Never mind that he's also sort of the most attractive person he's ever met, he's still an asshole.

 

It has never been a fabulous job, he can't hardly consider it a career--working in a nursing home. But Castiel needs the money badly from this job to pay his way to nursing school, which he is attending part-time. Aside from that, Castiel has always liked working with elderly people. There is something so humbling about the thought of caring for people at their weakest, most vulnerable state. It's not his first time working in a nursing home or a medical facility, but it _is_ his first day of work in Southland Nursing Home, and this _neanderthal,_ who happens to look like this is just his pit stop on his way to hollywood, is not making it an easy first day for Castiel.

 

So it wasn't really Castiel's fault that he's five minutes late. For god's sake, five minutes. He's an hour and a half away outside of town, and he has not anticipated (no one has) the big holdup in traffic in the only major highway to the city. And for a commuter who only relies on public transportation to get to work in one piece, Castiel thought that five minutes late is not too bad for all the shit he had to get through before his day even begins.

 

When he got to his unit, he introduced himself, and apologized to the nurse on duty profusely. He asked about his assigned patients. The nurse whose name is Penny was lovely and smiled at Castiel the whole time; she chatted him up, asked about his background, and schooling, didn't even mention anything about Castiel being late on his first day at work.

 

"Yeah, I attend school part time."

 

"LPN or RN?" Penny asked while she was crushing meds on the nurse's cart.

 

"Uh, RN."

 

Penny was quite chatty, and talked about school and practice some more. By the time she wound down, it was already half an hour past three.

 

"I'm sorry but I really need to ask about my patient assignments, and my partner for the day."

 

"Oh, sorry. Your patient assignments is in that endorsement book over there. And that's Dean, he's your partner. He's not only good for being hot, he'll actually orient you around here." Penny winked at Castiel, and pointed at a man who was seated in the semi-enclosed nurse's station.

 

Castiel's first thought was, Dean Winchester is broad-shouldered, and has the sexiest back you could ever lay your eyes on, at least from the view that greeted Cas when he entered the nurse's station. Dean sat on a swiveling stool, head ducked down, as he wrote something in one of the books.

 

"Excuse me, you're Dean Winchester."

 

The man turned to face him then, and Castiel never even thought it could happen not-in-movies, that he could not utter a single word because of how stumped he was with this man's face. It's unfair, was all Castiel could think.

 

It felt like a couple of pauses with them just looking, waiting.

 

Dean Winchester did not smile, he didn't even blink. He stared at Castiel with the most smug expression, and a glint in his eyes. No kindness, no softness. Just straight up smugness.

 

"Yeah?"  
  


"I'm Castiel. Castiel Novak, I'm the new nursing assistant. And um, your partner for this shift."

"Yeah, I heard."

 

Green eyes--Forest green, dotted with emeralds, looked back at his, almost challenging. And Castiel didn't know how or why he registered every micro-detail of this man's face, and expressions. But he just did.

 

Finally, the man looked away, and glanced at the clock.

 

"You're late."

 

"Yes, I'm sorry about that. Got stuck in traffic."

 

Dean scoffed sarcastically, probably internally asking himself, "Can you believe this guy?"

 

"Yeah, right. And when you do finally get here, you waste half an hour being even more late."

 

He said, slack-jawed, eyeing Cas with some amount of derision, his eyeballs almost rolling but not quite.

  
Cas didn't know what to say. It's not like he can blame Penny for being a chatterbox, eating his apparently very precious time.

 

"All my patients are taken care of, will be taken care of. Don't do my toilets, don't answer my call bells. I can manage." Dean Winchester said sternly, his voice gruff and low, a monotone so threatening you couldn't miss its terrorist agenda. He turned away from him, writing in the progress notes, evidently dismissing Cas.

 

If it wasn't clear before that this man hated him the moment he first laid eyes on Castiel, it's crystal clear now, Castiel remembers thinking.

 

"I don't even know who my patients are."

 

"Dude, it's not my fault that you missed endorsement." Dean stood up from the conference table, shutting the progess notes with a final snap, and leaving the enclosed space.

 

It didn't take a long time for Castiel to figure out he's not getting any help from the man. Any sort of orientation or first day training was off the table. _So much for having a partner._

 

He toileted five residents, three of which took a dump. His transfers to wheelchairs he did all by himself even though it should be with a partner. He's had seven call bells, and all the difficult patients seemed to be assigned to him. By 5:30pm, he's exhausted. There's still supper to get through, and that other matter of getting all his ten patients to bed, without any sort of help from his douchebag of a partner. It was clearly gonna be a long five hours until 11pm.

 

\---

And now, Castiel is tired. And he's reached the maximum level of animosity one can probably receive just by stares alone from a person.

Dean Winchester doesn't talk to him, at all. He gives him the occasional glare, like Castiel does not deserve any sort of space in his field of vision. For the rest of his shift, Castiel does his best to just stay out of the man's way.

 

Supper comes in, all the residents are up and seated in the smaller dining hall in their wing where Dean and Castiel are working.  _So he's still stuck with the asshole_. Dean ignores him completely, talks to all the patients like an angel; and in turn, all of them look at Dean like he hung the moon or something. Castiel pours drinks and serves soup, quiet as a mouse, frowning on the inside. The very few patients who seem to notice him at all are a chinese man who introduces himself as Mr. Hong, keeps a toothy smile at Cas, but turns out to be just being friendly to him because the old man wants an extra bowl of soup; Friedl, a very big german-speaking woman who keeps saying 'danke' everytime Castiel passes by; and a really sassy, silver-haired woman named Helen who asks Castiel in a very wry voice 'who peed in your cereal this morning?' as he was serving her tea.

 

The food is being brought in by a kitchen personnel who gives Castiel a kind smile. Castiel smiles back at her, and hangs out near the food cart where she is preparing the food. 

 

"You new?"

 

"Tragically." Castiel is glad that at least someone is finally making a conversation with him.

 

The elderly woman with a blue kitchen bonnet chuckles at him. Her yellow name plate says 'Missouri'.

 

"You'd be surprised about folks here being actually half decent." Missouri says as she scoops some mashed potatoes into plates.

 

"I'm not so sure about that." Castiel mumbles, glances at Dean who is assisting the residents with table napkins, all the while talking and joking with them animatedly.

 

"Oh?" Missouri must have noticed Castiel's small glance, as she gives Castiel a little amused smirk. "You know, he's actually my favorite person in this place." She nudges her head towards Dean's direction.

 

"Oh no, I didn't mean.." Castiel flushes. Missouri's deep laugh cuts his words.

 

"Oh boy, you should see your face." Missouri is now putting in ham and veggies in the plates. "Ah, but he is. He's a friend, he's like a son to me. And he's not hard to look at either." She raises both eyebrows at him.

 

"No he's not, but the guy hates me. For some reason." Castiel says in a low voice as he helps Missouri with the trays.

 

"Probably 'cause he finds you're not hard to look at either, fish. Gotta keep an eye out for competition."

 

"There's a compliment hidden there somewhere." Castiel smiles at her. "First of all, my name is Castiel."

 

"It's nice to meet you, I'm Missouri. I like you the moment you opened your mouth. And I'm a very good judge of character."

 

Castiel decides he likes Missouri too.

 

"Well, you're the second person to ever talk to me like I'm a human being in this place. Even though you called me 'fish.' So thank you, and I like you, too."

 

Just then Dean walks into their conversation, with a neutral expression towards Castiel's direction. But he clearly lights up when he sees Missouri.

 

"Hey lovely lady," he flashes Missouri a smile. A brief, really genuine smile. For the first time, Castiel sees just how Dean Winchester can probably set off a series of bio-chemical explosions in one's brain with just a teeny-tiny smile. If he sets his heart to it (if he has one), he could probably cause entire nervous systems to short circuit. Because of this, Castiel decides he hates the man even more. _What_ an asshole.

 

Missouri melts on her spot, of course. "Hey yourself." Dean reaches her and gives her a hug.

 

"How're my home boys doin'?" He asks.

 

"Oh you know, taking on the world. One computer game at a time." Missouri tells him.

 

As Castiel watches them converse, it's so easy to see that the two are very fond of each other, and that they have a relationship outside of work. Their chatter fades into the back of Castiel's clouded mind as he tries to reconcile this friendly and endearing image of Dean to the ogre he's been acquainted with the entire afternoon. 

 

Supper passes by, thankfully without any unwanted incidents. Castiel remains quiet, mostly talking to the residents. Dean is still on a mission to ignore him completely.

 

By the end of his shift, Castiel is exhausted. He's ready to call it a night, and there's even still the whole matter of taking the bus and train to get home. At the bus stop in front of the nursing home, he huffs out a tired foggy breath, and wonders not for the first time why he keep a job like this. It's physically exhausting, and there'd always, always be that one co-worker who thinks workplace bullying is okay.

 

Not a while later, a sleek black truck pulls up from the parking area, drives slowly by Castiel onto the road, in order for him to get a good glimpse of the driver. Of course, it's Dean Winchester. Who else could it fucking be? The guy makes sure to give Castiel a pointed, dismissive look as he drives by. Castiel is not the judging type of person but _everything about this image of Dean Winchester, his car, his attitide, his arrogance screams spoilt, rich brat who is clearly very deprived of a genuine identity he displaces all his energy to things he's not passionate about because he doesn't know what to do with his time,_ Castiel surmises which makes him feel a little better, convincing himself that he's clearly above the man.

 

Castiel arrives at his front door at half an hour past midnight, and needless to say he's tired beyond this plane of existence. He goes straight to his room, strips to his boxers and crashes on the bed.

\---

 

Dean Winchester is sure about one thing. He _hates_ Castiel Novak. He hates everything about him, and everything he represents. It's not a really good feeling to be nursing, considering he's stuck working with the guy almost four days a week. He's not sure why Lisa, their sweet, sweet scheduler, seemed to find it a good idea to stick them together. Yeah, it's not a great feeling, but hell, that's how he feels, alright? His feelings are valid, that being, he absolutely hates Castiel Novak.

 

Another thing Dean Winchester is absolutely fucking sure of is that, Castiel Novak, _the son of a bitch_ , is the hottest thing on two legs. And he doesn't even know it. Like, guy has no clue. Or _pretends_ he has no clue... _What the fuck, right? He can go to hell._

 

He stares at him during endorsement, through the lazy, early morning buzz of people talking all at once in the conference room, and Dean thinks, _what the hell is that face? Like even, what the hell_. His lips are permanently chapped, like he can't afford buying a fucking chapstick. His hair, permanently ruffled like he had just stumbled out of bed. Does he even own a comb? And his neck. Dean can't even begin to talk about his neck. And even with all that ruggedness, Castiel Novak just can't seem to help emitting a goody-two-shoes image. _Mister-I'm-getting-nursing-degree. Mister-I'm-too-fucking-good-for-you._

 

"Can we switch sides, Dilly? I'll buy subway and coffee for lunch. My treat." Dean calls out to a friend and colleague, as people are walking out of the conference room to start work.

 

Diligence, a really pretty girl, slim and dark and model-like, looks at Dean confusedly.

 

"Like, you mean, patient assignments?"

 

"Yep."

 

"I can't imagine why you want to switch with me, I got group five. But I'll take it, even without the subway and coffee. That is, if you're not pulling my leg."

 

"I'm not. I'm serious, just switch with me."

 

Dilly gapes at him, and smiles big.

 

"I'll take it. Gee Dean, thanks! Plus, I get to be partners with McDreamy over there." Dilly laughs, and gestures to Novak's retreating ass.

 

"Uh, yeah."

 

Come mid-morning, Dean starts to regret his decision, switching sides with Dilly. Everyone knows group five is the most difficult cluster among patient assignments. Plus, it's really fucking annoying hearing laughter in the south wing where Dilly is partners with Cas. It's not unusual that Dilly laughs her ass off most days, but to hear Cas laughing just unnerves Dean. I mean, it's inevitable. Guy's gonna make friends, right? With his reluctant smiles, and bedhair and fucking annoying chapped mouth, and now his deep, giggly laugh. Guy can't help it he's an adorable teddy bear. _Whatever, who cares?_

 

The next couple of days, Dean makes a conscious effort to just stick it out with Cas. Some part of him is racking his brains why all of this should cost him some effort and a whole lot of peace of mind. He's not being fucking selfish, okay? Because firstly, Castiel is assigned to be his partner, alright? It's not like he's depriving him purposely of social interaction within the workplace, he can fucking do whatever he wants, talk to whomever he wants, be chummy with everyone for god's sake. Dean just can't help being more comfortable with the silent treatment between him and Cas, compared to seeing him giddy and happy, and fucking laughing with anyone else. _God, where did that come from? This is your fault, Dean._

 

Dean decides to keep it professional. He's been an asshole, he admits, and he tries to make up for it by just doing his job as a partner. So they tolerate each other, Dean and Cas. They keep their conversations civil, minimal and related to work.

 

Day comes when Charlie, a red-headed firecracker comes back to work from a vacation leave. And she's as fiesty and as hyper as ever. That day, she's assigned as a float aide in Dean and Castiel's wing.

 

“So, Castiel?” Charlie says suggestively, like you don't know what she's up to, while she's preparing dinner trays. Next to her by the counter and sink is Castiel, sorting out bowls for the soups and salads. _And where was Dean in all of this?_ Trying to keep busy, pouring out drinks while pretending he isn't eavesdropping.

 

“Yes, that is my name.”

 

Charlie beams at him, naturally. Obviously finding something amusing about the enigma that apparently, is Cas.

 

“Fabulous. And where are you from?”

 

“Originally? Uh, Idaho.”

 

“No, I mean from around here? Where do you live?” asks Charlie. Of course, classic Charlie to ask about personal details.

 

“Red Deer.”

 

Charlie gapes at him, disbelievingly.

 

“Are you kidding me? That's like an hour drive from here!”

 

“One and a half to two hours for me. I commute.” Castiel says, matter-of-factly. Dean starts, and almost spills the coffee he's pouring.

 

“Man, are you serious?” Charlie echoes what Dean is thinking. Red Deer is not in the suburbs of the city, it's fucking outside the city.

 

“As a heart attack.” Castiel smiles at her, good-naturedly. Dean steals tiny glances in their direction, and can't help but feel stupid and immature that he can't even butt in the conversation like a functioning adult, and is reduced to a mere spectator to all things that involve Castiel Novak at the very least.

 

“I'm used to it by now, I've been going to school in Bow Valley. Downtown.”

 

“That just doesn't make sense. I mean, why not just move here?”

 

Castiel makes a face, while buttering bread, and putting them separately in trays.

 

“I can't find a reasonably priced room in this city that fits my budget. See I'm a lot in need of every penny I can save. The woman who owns the room I'm renting right now would have a difficult time finding renters. So I just stay. In a way, we help each other out.”

 

“Aw, man.” Charlie shakes her head. “That's tough. I'm glad I'm done with school, y'know?”

 

Castiel chuckles. Rich and deep, and full of mirth and genuineness. It gets to Dean, and he tries to move away. But then Charlie, decides to do whole different ball game.

 

“Hey, you doing anything later? After work?”

 

“Uhhh, no?”

 

Dean makes a 180 turn, glares at Charlie. Charlie glares back for a second, and then looks back at Castiel with a sweet expression.

 

“Work or school tomorrow?”

 

“Uh, school. But...not until 2.”

 

_Would she dare?_

 

“Perfect! Come with us tonight at the Roadhouse.”

 

_Of course she would dare, who's he kidding?_

 

“Uhh, I'm not sure...”

 

“Come on, man, it'd be fun! Just a few drinks. You seem cool, Gilda and Benny and Chuck from unit 3 are doing evenings too, so we're all going. Aaand...you're...going with us!”

 

“Uh, trains and buses are only going until midnight tonight, holiday weekend? So, I should refuse, or else I won't be getting home.”

 

“That's seriously not a problem. I would _personally_ make it my mission in life tonight to keep you safe and drop you off safely, like a newborn baby at your front door. I can even tuck you in bed, and sing you a lullaby.”

 

“Are you sure? Red Deer is awfully far.”

 

“Castiel, just say yes.” Charlie stands impatiently waiting for an answer, one hand on her hip.

 

“Yes.”

 

 _And there we go._ Dean's night is officially ruined. He's always looking forward to the weekly Roadhouse hangouts, with Gilda, Charlie, Benny and Chuck. It's comfortable, and fun. And they're just few of the few people that Dean can be himself around with, so yeah, he likes their time together at the Roadhouse, considers it as one of the few reprieves he have from work and stress. And now, Charlie decides to taint it by betraying him. Because that's what it is. _A fucking betrayal._

 

\---

 

 _Why did I agree to this?_ Castiel asks himself again. He's in the back seat of Charlie's little Mazda, assessing his life choices while trying to crouch his long legs in the limited space in the back of the car. Charlie and Gilda in the front are talking about (of all things) cosplay stuff. Castiel can't help but feel a little left out.

 

“Castiel, you alright?” Charlie glances at him through the rear view mirror.

 

“Uh, yeah.”

 

“You're awfully quiet.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It's gonna be fun, man.” Castiel is beginning to think that there's just no swaying Charlie's enthusiasm.

 

“They serve the best buffalo wings this side of town, I swear.” Gilda supplies. She's very friendly, and very elegant, Castiel thinks.

 

“You didn't tell me Dean would be coming.”

 

“Sorry, who? Dean?” Charlie looks at him again in the rearview mirror, and then laughs. “Is there a problem with him coming along? He always goes with us.”

 

“Uh, no, no. Of course, no.” Castiel says, flushing. “Uh, he's just...very distant? He doesn't like me very much.”

 

Charlie and Gilda both burst into peals of laughter in the front seats, leaving Castiel confused.

 

“ _Dean Winchester_ doesn't like you?” Gilda asks, trying her best effort to stop laughing again.

 

“He hates my guts. Don't know why.”

 

The two girls laugh again.

 

“Oh, that's new! That's super funny, Cas.”

 

“I don't know what's so funny about that. It's true.”

 

“Dean Winchester could not for the life of him, even hate a fly. Don't be fooled by his muscle cars, and his greek god body, or his face which is, otherworldly, for the lack of a better word. He's all mush and goo inside.” Charlie says.

 

“He's the best man I know.” Gilda adds, looks at Charlie warmly.

 

“He walked me to the altar on my wedding day.” Charlie says fondly. “'Coz I don't have parents,” she adds rather playfully.

 

“You're married?” Castiel asks.

 

Gilda and Charlie burst into laughter again.

 

“We're married to each other, Cas.” Gilda says, and leans over to give Charlie a quick kiss on the neck.

 

Of course they're married to each other.

 

They arrive at "The Roadhouse", which is a steak house/ pub in downtown, in between two empty, grim-looking lots, near the road (hence the name).

 

Castiel scanned the parking lot automatically for Dean's shiny black truck, hoping somehow he decided to cop out. Castiel's not dreading being with Dean. He's never one to back down, if Dean ever decides to confront him. Castiel knows he hasn't done anything wrong. It's just he doesn't like awkwardness, and being ingenuine. He's never been really good at that.

 

But there it was, Dean's black GMC, parked proudly and sticking like a sore thumb in the mishmash of much smaller vehicles in the pub's parking lot.

 

 _Oh well, just get this over with,_ Castiel thinks with a sigh as he gets out of the car.

 

Charlie and Gilda lead the way inside the pub, to a booth seating in the farthest corner. Dean is already there, along with two other men who must be Benny and Chuck. The two women greet everyone, and Castiel appreciates that Charlie introduces him to the group very briefly and casually.

 

Chuck seems tame, and simple. Like Cas, he has the looks of being dragged here too against his general liking, but being forced to agree because what else is there to do? Aside from wallowing in their boring existence? Benny, on the other hand looks more sure of why he's here on this particular night: to blow off steam, and just wind down. And like Dean, Benny has that look that this is his idea of winding down.

 

Castiel imagines laying in his bed at home after a long workday, or after a grueling exam week, comfortable and familiar, and doesn't require effort of any sort. Now _that's_ his idea of winding down. He looks across the table and he finds himself seated right in front of Dean. They can't be any more different. Dean watches him grimly as he takes a swig of his beer. Castiel watches him back because for the life of him, he can't ever figure out why he's a subject of such loathing.

 

Later, a girl comes to their table to take their orders. Her name is Jo, and the group just mobs her, chats her up good, until she literally pries herself away from Dean who has been pinning her in the booth seat with his arm around her neck. Castiel wonders how that works, being the object of Dean Winchester's affectionate, albeit seemingly brotherly touches.

 

"Come on, Jo!" Benny and Charlie try calling her back.

 

"Guys, I have other customers, okay?? Let me do my job! Ellen's giving me shit everytime you guys are here!" Jo calls back. She fixes her ponytail that's been rumpled from the little brawl. She looks like she's harassed, and had one too many nights like this with these people. "Oh, and nice to meet ya, Castiel!" she shouts from the bar. Cas waves at her with a little smile, acknowledgingly.

 

Castiel finds himself actually relaxing, and even having a good time afterwards. He decides to ignore Dean Winchester and his indignant glances at his way. For the most part of the night, Castiel actually enjoys the company of these people. They have some sort of...chemistry. Gilda and Charlie can't possibly be more compatible. They're not touchy with other; in fact, they look more like best friends than wives. Some clues would give them away though, like little touches here and there, a casual hair tuck behind the other's ear, a little hand-holding. Mostly, they talk, Charlie being more chatty, not ever running out of stories and anecdotes. Benny is a solid rock, he's had five beers, and he doesn't look the slightest bit of tipsy. He listens intently, and occasionally would comment, or laugh rather enthusiastically. Chuck, Castiel thinks, is a dark horse. He looks kind of lost, but he actually couldn't belong even more. He has a very dry sense of humor, laughs rarely, comments sparsely and nonsensically, and spurts out the most hilarious one-liners that everyone would laugh raucously at. He'd wait on everyone to finally stop laughing, apparently unimpressed about anything at all.

 

Now Dean, on the other hand, is a puzzle. Castiel finds out that Dean is an amazing story teller. He has a tendency to self-depreciate while he's telling a story from his point of view, which is, a comfort somehow, but is confusing as hell. A comfort because contrary to the perfect image he projects, there is a whole different story in there, like he's far from aware that he's attractive, and sexy, and that he has everything a man could possibly ever want.

 

Castiel discovers he likes Dean's mouth the best. He checks himself numerous times because he can't seem to stop looking at the movement if the man's lips. Or hanging on to every word that falls from them, because _come on, Dean's voice... And uh, his words._

 

He melts a little everytime Dean would give him his dark, charged looks. He seems friendly to every one, even fond. Just not Castiel. And it gets to Castiel, more than he cares to admit.

 

"Earth to Cas! Dude, you're not even tipsy." It's Charlie, of course. Cas raises her his beer bottle, and takes a drink.

 

Benny chuckles, a deep baritone sound, his arms folded into his chest comfortably. "You're not a lightweight, could've fooled us."

 

"Bring out the big guns!" Charlie exclaims, thumping the table loudly. Now _she_ , Castiel thinks, is _not_ tipsy, but drunk. And will be wasted, no doubt, before the night ends. Castiel keeps his worries about getting home to himself.

 

Jo comes over not long after with a whole platter of shots of whatever. Later on, Castiel finds out they were vodka and tequila. Before he knows it, he has downed seven shots.

\---

 

Castiel Novak is gorgeous when drunk. Which is very unfair, because incidentally, Castiel Novak is cute as hell too. Dean thinks it's not possible to be that cute and hot at the same time, it's just ridiculous.

 

It's half past one in the morning, and Dean has successfully kept to three beers as he watches the ship they were sailing swiftly go down. Charlie is hella drunk, Gilda a little flushed but quiet, probably a little tipsy. Chuck is out like a light in the corner of the booth. And Benny has long stopped drinking shots in favor of hydrating with water to flush out alcohol in his system.

 

And Castiel looks flushed, pleasantly buzzed, hair straight out of GQ, shoulders broad in that blue t-shirt he probably bought from Walmart that _should not_ make him lool like a model, but does.

 

"Hey, Castiel," Gilda turns to Cas, "I'm sorry I know Charlie promised to take you home..."

 

"I am!!" Charlie blurts out boisterously.

 

"Uh..honey," Gilda coos beside her. "First of all why didn't you tell us you're supposed to be Castiel's designated driver? We could've stopped you from drinking too much."

 

Charlie suddenly stands up, determined to look sober. She raises her right arm, in a pledging stance.

 

"I'm good! Seriously! Let's get going. Come on, Cas. I'll drive you!"

 

"No, Charlie, I don't think you're going to be driving anything tonight, hon."

 

"Whattaya talking about, Gilds? I'm perfectly fine." She sways on her spot, almost falls on her face on top of the table. Gilda catches her just in time.

 

"Cas, I'd drive you but I'm not a very experienced driver and haven't driven as far as your place. You can crash at our apartment for the night? Is that okay?" Gilda suggests, looking really concerned.

 

Cas looks at the duo, Charlie slumped comfortably on the other's shoulder, clearly passed out.

 

"Umm, that's okay, I'll just uhh..."

 

"I'll take you home." Dean's not sure how the words escaped his mouth. Castiel looks at him directly, and he sees blue, clear blue, ocean blue with hints of sunlight on the surface.

 

Dean realizes what he said.

 

"I mean your home. Uh, I'll take you to—y- _your_ home, not take you home. With me. It's um, not what.." _He should stop_. He wills himself to stop. _Jesus_.

 

Everyone on the table just stops. Gilda and Benny just stares at him like he sprouted wings. It was Cas who broke the silence.

 

"N-no," Cas looks at him unwaveringly, holds his stare, but speaks reluctantly, "Thanks, I guess, but uh, I'm okay, I'll just uh..."

 

"You'll...just uhh...?" Dean waits a beat for any viable suggestion.

 

"I-I can crash at Charlie and Gilda's place."

 

More pauses, and Benny coughs a bit in the background. Gilda starts, causing Charlie to wake up a little on her shoulder.

 

"Actually, we don't have a couch." Charlie mumbles drunkenly on Gilda's shirt, she's awake after all. Dean thinks she's more sober than she's letting on. "But you're welcome to sleep in bed with me and Gilds, bein' the cutie that you are. Yar such a cutie, Cas. I'm so glad you came with us. I just know we're gonna be besties." Charlie breathes into Gilda's chest some more, almost slumped heavily on her wife's lap.

 

Dean looks back at Castiel, and he looks back at him with a sigh.

 

"Okay!" Benny barks. "Settles it, you take Cas home. _Not home with you, but to his actual home_." Benny sniggers like something about that is entirely amusing. "I drive Chuck. And Gilds will haul this cute mess of her wife right here back to their couchless apartment."

 

"Hey, m'not a mess!" Charlie protests indignantly, "....but yeah, y'ar right, am cute."

 

And that's how Dean ends up being in an hour drive outside the city, in the confines of his truck, surrounded by the night's darkness, with Castiel fucking Novak, all rumpled and stirred and hot, sitting not a foot away from him in the passenger's seat. _You did this to yourself, Dean_.

 

\---

 

Sobriety has slapped him in the face the moment Dean Winchester announced, "I'll take you home," with his actual voice, _you know, with that voice of his_ , which does all kinds of things to Castiel's insides, if he's brave enough to admit.

 

And now, he's sitting in Dean Winchester's truck, feeling like he hasn't had a drop of alcohol the entire night. _It's just an hour,_ Cas tells himself _._

 

It's too quiet. Cas coughs uncomfortably for the fifth time.

 

"You coming down with something?"

 

"What? Uh, no. It's nothing, just a dry throat."

 

Castiel watches, and steadies himself, as Dean's right hand gropes blindly in the back of the passenger seat. Dean finds what he's looking for, and hands Cas a water bottle.

 

"Thanks," he mutters. Dean doesn't answer.

 

The silence is deafening. Dean punches the car radio on, which is probably a good idea. Until a song called 'Closing Time' plays, and it keeps repeating the words, "I Know Who I want To Take Me Home" in the chorus.

 

They suffer through the entire song, very awkwardly.

 

"Look, man. I think we've gotten off to a bad start," says Dean. Castiel thinks he must be having auditory hallucinations. Dean looks at him in the dark when he doesn't say anything.

 

"Yes. We did." Castiel agrees. "Although I can't imagine why."

 

Dean doesn't answer, so Castiel keeps talking.

 

"I've been racking my brain for any reason at all, for you to hate me like you did..... or maybe still do."

 

"I don't hate you."

 

 _We both know that's a lie._ Castiel thought better than to say it aloud.

 

Dean fidgets. The glowing light from the dashboard illuminates his features, and Castiel just can't stop looking, taking in all his little expressions.

 

"Your death stares say otherwise."

 

"Death st--, my wha--? I don't death stare. What even is a--? ...Look man, let's just start over, alright? Can we do that?" There's a scoff in there, and a dab of denial.

 

It makes Castiel smile. It occurs to him that it may entirely be possible to know this man from all his facial expressions alone.

 

"Alright, you want the full apology, fine. I'm sorry, okay? I thought you were a stuck-up prick, whose got everything figured out, with your nursing degree, your perfect teeth, and dry-cleaned scrub suits."

 

Castiel bursts out laughing, and doesn't stop for a while. He's got tears running down his cheeks from too much laughing.

 

"Alright, you can stop now." Dean says flatly, but with an amused glint in his eyes.

 

"I'm sorry," Castiel says and tries his hardest not to break out into laughter again. "I don't know where to start with that statment. First of all," he laughs again, couldn't help it.

 

"What?"

 

"I don't dryclean my scrub suits. Who the hell does that?" Castiel snorts out.

 

"I dunno. You?" Dean says defensively.

 

"I don't, okay? I put them in the washer and dryer like a normal person would."

 

"I don't know, man. You always look unrumpled at work, like everything is going your way. Not everyone appreciates that when the rest of us are ready to crash by the end of an eight-hour shift."

 

Castiel cannot believe what he's hearing.

 

"You seriously think that? Wow, you've got the wrong memo. I'm in a constant mess inside when at work, especially with you around scowling at me like I killed your firstborn."

 

Dean's mouth turns up in a smile that reaches his eyes making crinkles appear.

 

"See, it amuses you!" Castiel accuses. "You laugh at my misfortunes. You do know I don't have a nursing degree, right? As you claim. What I have is probably a lifetime's worth of student loan, and a medical-surgical textbook as thick as the holy bible sitting at home that needs a whole lot of reading."

 

"You're going to be a registered nurse, okay? That's something, Cas. Don't pretend it's not. And I may think you rub it in before..."

 

"I don't!" Castiel protests.

 

"Let me finish, alright?... I may think you rub it in before. But now, I just wish you well. And uh, I know you'll get there."

 

Silence.

 

"I don't have perfect teeth."

 

Castiel can't see very well in the dark, but he just knows Dean rolled his eyes. Castiel checks himself because he shouldn't be feeling giddy like this, and about to explode just because Dean seemed comfortable talking to him in easy banters.

 

They arrive in Red Deer an hour and a half later. _Dean sure drove slowly,_ Castiel tells himself, but tries not to think too much into it.

 

\---

 

Yes, he drove slowly. And yes, it was because he may never get another opportunity to be this close, and be this free with Cas.

 

"Uh, can I use your washroom?" is the first thing Dean says when they arrive at Castiel's front door, before Cas can even begin to say goodbye.

 

"Of course, Dean. Come on in," Cas opens the car door, and leads Dean to the front lawn of the two-storey Victorian house. In the front porch, Cas dorkily fumbles for keys to the front door. There isn't any light, so Dean switches on the light on his phone, directs it to Cas's clumsy fingers on the keys. He sneaks a peek at Cas in the low light. The guy has incredibly long eyelashes, his cheeks are still flushed, and his mouth is thin in concentration. His hair is chocolate-brown, and to Dean's opinion, doesn't need any more messing up for Dean's own peace of mind.

 

Dean laughs low, takes the keys from Cas hands when he's taking too long. "Jeez, Cas. I'm blowing up a bladder here."

 

"Sorry, I'm not so sober after all."

 

Dean snorts and tries another key with a steady hand. He can't help but smile, and think to himself, _this feels like a date, like, a really good date that's about to get even better._

 

Then he ends up scolding himself. _This is not a date. You need to calm the fuck down, man._

 

When the door opens, it's to a semi-lit foyer.

 

"Uh, my room is in the basement." Cas squeezes in to get by Dean, and lead inside. Dean follows him into the house, and down the basement stairs.

 

"The washroom is through my bedroom, Dean. So uh, I'm sorry in advance for the state of chaos in my room."

 

"I forgive it, in advance."

 

"Ha-ha," Castiel makes a face at him, as he opens the door to his bedroom, and switches on the light.

 

Castiel's room is messy, but it has some sort of organization to it. The bed is unmade, and it looks soft and comfy. The curtains are a speckled white. There's an actual black leather couch, strewn with some blankets and scarves, throw pillows with elk patterns, and some thrown-over pieces of clothing. There's vased daisies on the floor by the bottom corner of the couch. One wall has a poster-sized laminated world map taped to it, a dartboard beside it. Castiel's study table is covered entirely by books, papers, notebooks, and posits.

 

"A+ for character, Cas." Dean teases, although he finds everything tasteful, and a whole lot adorable.

 

"Shut up, the washroom's through that door," Cas tells him smilingly, as he picks up items on the floor

 

Dean takes his time in Castiel's washroom looking at the decor; but mostly, although he may never admit it, registering Castiel's toiletries. The brand of shampoo he uses, his aftershave, his soap, his mouthwash. He opens the cap of a bottled perfume and takes a sniff, does the same with all the perfumes. Yeah, he likes every fragrance Cas has. He puts back the last bottle back in the shelf when something else catches his eye. There in the farthest corner of the shelf sits a half-empty squeezable bottle of lube. Fucking lube.

 

It's like a dam wall breaking, and in come crashing images of Cas jerking off in his mind. There sitting in the toilet seat is Cas in all his naked glory. Brown skin and wiry muscles, thighs opened in a V where his hand is busy shuffling a languid beat on his cock, long and fat and leaking against his lean abs. The column of his neck is exposed as he looks up to the ceiling in ecstasy. His eyelashes fluttering like wings against his skin. And his lips flushed, slightly open and rose-petal pink, where words would fall in whispers, delirious and undone. He comes in ropes of white against the bathroom tiles, with Dean's name on his mouth.

 

"Dean?" Cas's voice calls through the bathroom door.

 

Dean starts and almost knocks over a makeshift metal shelf behind him. It takes him a while to compose himself and to actually answer Cas. And when he does, his voice comes out a broken croak.

 

"Y-yes?"

 

"Are you okay? You've been in there a while."

 

"I'm--I'm good." He looks down at his jeans. _Except for the tent in my pants._

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"I just uh--" He looks at the bathroom wall, searching for a plausible alibi. "uh, have a really bad stomach ache," he blinks a couple of times.

 

"Sorry. Take your time in there, hope you feel better."

 

He hears Castiel's retreating steps outside the door, and heaves a sigh. He feels like he was caught red-handed. Dean does take his time, washes his face with cold water, wills his boner to go away, even does a couple of jumping jacks.

 

When he finally leaves the bathroom, he enters Castiel's freshly tidied-up room, lamp lights on, and music playing from Cas's laptop. Castiel himself is laying diagnonally in bed, on his stomach, obviously trying hard to stay awake while waiting for Dean to come out of the bathroom.

 

"Uh, sorry that took so long. I'll leave soon so you can rest, Cas."

 

"'sokay, Dean. I made you tea." Castiel gestures sleepily at the bedside table where a tray with a cup of tea, and a little plate of salt crackers sits. In the same tray is a tall glass of water and two tablets of antacid.

 

Dean chokes up on his spit a little. He doesn't know why such a small gesture would make him feel vulnerable. Actually, scratch that, he does know. It's because no one makes him tea, and prepares a goddamn plate of crackers for him when he doesn't feel well. He's used to be the one doing things for people, not the other way around.

 

"Gee, Cas. You didn't have to go through the trouble."

 

Cas looks up at him groggily, and probably registers the self-conscious look on Dean's face that he just can't seem to stomp off.

 

"It's just tea, Dean," Cas says quietly.

 

_Just tea. Yeah._

 

"Do you wanna... sleep here for the night?"

 

Dean coughs in the cup of tea he was drinking. He thumps on his chest. His train of thought stops, and he doesn't trust himself to answer that question because he's sure he'd end up saying an incoherent jumble of words.

 

"Sorry, I just think it's a really long drive, and you're not feeling well, not to mention a little bit inebriated. It'll be more ideal to drive out in the daylight."

 

It takes Dean half a minute to form a complete sentence.

 

"Yes."

 

"Yes, you'll stay?"

 

"Yes." He feels like an idiot.

 

"Okay, good." Castiel says casually, gets up from the bed, and walks to the drawer. "You want a change of clothes?" He opens the top drawer.

 

"No!" Dean says a tad bit forcefully. Castiel raises both hands in defense.

 

Dean coughs out, tries to modulate his voice lower, "Uh, no. I'll probably just nap and head out first light."

 

"Okay, Dean. Pick a side on the bed."

 

Dean looks from the bed to Cas, and then back again.

 

"Side?"

 

"Neither of us can fit in the couch, Dean. Let's be real."

 

Dean looks at the four-foot long couch. Castiel is, of course, right. He shouldn't be squeamish about sharing a bed with a man, what kind of principle is that anyway?

 

_On principle that you just spent half an hour in the bathroom shaking away the hard-on you got for the man you'll be sharing the bed with._

 

"Right side." He levels his stare at Cas, and Cas is the first to look away.

 

"Alright, feel at home. I'll just use the washroom."

 

Castiel disappears in the bathroom, and Dean sinks in the bed with a sigh.

 

_What the fuck? It's just a few hours, Dean._

 

He toes off his shoes and draws the thick white duvet off the bed, discovering there are more blanket layers beneath. He draws each to get to the actual sleeping surface.

 

"Jesus, who owns this much blanket?" He whispers under his breath. He finally settles in bed, pulling one blanket over his body, and facing away from Cas's side. He turns off the bedside lamp quickly before Castiel comes out of the bathroom, and they're forced into any sort of awkward conversation.

 

Not a minute after, Castiel strides inside the room in boxers and another walmart t-shirt. The smell of soap and toothpaste wafts in from the bathroom, and Dean pretends to be asleep. A dip in the bed tells Dean that Cas is getting in bed. For some reason, Dean braces himself, for something. But nothing happens, except for the other bedside lamp being switched off.

 

"'night, Dean."

 

Of course Dean's supposed to be asleep so he doesn't say good night back. And within seconds, Cas is softly snoring beside him.

 

Dean wakes up to a pitch black room, the only light there is are the little green and red lights from Cas's laptop. Dean fishes his phone from the backpocket of his jeans, the time on the screen says 5:40am.

 

Dean moves to look at Cas's side of the bed. Somewhere in that mountain of blankets must be Castiel. Dean can't help but chuckle. Then, the mountain of blankets move to reveal Cas's face, pale and sleep-worn, drowning in the pool of beddings. The light from Dean's phone illuminates the other man's form, Castiel softly waking up, blinking away sleep rather unsuccessfully.

 

"Hey Dean," Castiel's morning voice is very gruff and very low, and goes straight to Dean's groin.

 

"H-hey," he says stupidly, because what do you say to someone who happens to look too cute while being not quite awake? You don't. You don't say anything, you kiss them or cuddle them or ruffle their hair, nuzzle in their warmth. You don't say one-word greetings in stutters.

 

Castiel, to his horror, scoots closer to his side of the bed, _his side!_ And fucking burrows his bedhead against Dean's arm.

 

"How's your tummy?" Cas mutters to his shoulder. And before he knows it, he feels Castiel's hand snaking under the sheets until it lands on the pudge in Dean's shirt-covered stomach.

 

Dean freezes, as he quietly loses his mind. Cas must have felt his ab muscles stiffen because he jolts awake, and withdraws his hand abruptly like he's been scalded.

 

"I'm sorry, I wasn't too awake," comes Cas's too severe apology.

 

Dean quickly composes himself and moves to sit on the bed. He shrugs and smiles towards Cas.

 

"It's alright, Cas. Not your fault, I'm just very touchable in the mornings." He says, trying to grin jokingly.

 

"And my 'tummy' is doing better." _Swipe off that grin, Winchester_. He starts putting on his shoes.

 

Cas gets up, too; he turns on the lamplight. This time, very awake and rubbing his eyes open.

 

"Uh, I gotta to take off now, Cas. Thanks for letting me crash here."

 

"Want anything to eat before you go?"

 

"No, I'll grab something on my way home. Thanks."

 

Castiel walks him upstairs where the windows let in the first light of the morning. He says one more goodbye as Cas opens the door for him.

 

On his drive home, he finally resigns to the fact that Castiel Novak looks even better when he's just woken up.

 

\---

 

There's an instant shift in their working relationship. After that night at the Roadhouse, Castiel comes back to work two days later to a subdued but definitely friendlier version of Dean Winchester. As usual, they would stay partners, but none of the cold shoulder Dean gave him in the past. Dean would ask him in between spikes of workload how he's doing, if he needs any help, or if he's had his break yet. There are times too, although not too often, that Dean would ask for his help, transferring a resident, or doing a bath. Castiel feels beatific when Dean would call him for any sort of help, even just to ask if he can ration diaper pads to each of the residents' rooms.

 

Castiel wonders why Lisa, their scheduler seems to have stuck them together permanently as partners. He'd have usually the same off days as Dean, and when they come back to work, they'd be back working together.

 

Days turn to months, and Castiel has become accustomed to working in the nursing home. He's made quite a lot of friends at work, too. It turns out Missouri was right that memorable first day of work after all, the people here are not too bad. There's a girl who's taken quite an interest in him in another area. Not romantically, but just likes to talk with Cas, and kind of teases him when he's around. Her name is Meg, and she likes to cook. She calls Cas Clarence and brings him home-cooked meals, puts them in lid-locked containers, and insists with Cas to bring them home so he'll have something to eat, as he was informed that 'he's very skinny.'

 

He's now become an honorable member of the Roadhouse gang. Charlie and Gilda, Benny and Chuck, and even Dean quickly turn into close friends who he feels like he's known forever.

 

The older people who work in the nursing home seem to like Castiel, too. He'd get invited to family dinners, and birthday parties, weddings, anniversaries. Missouri has invited him into her home a couple of times, he has met her children: two teenage boys, young but unimpressionable, smart and obviously raised gracefully.

 

Castiel is overwhelmed about everything, how these people he didn't even know a few months ago are taking him in now so easily and effortlessly, like he's family.

 

Dean Winchester is still aloof in sharing himself. He might be friendlier with Cas but there is still that tension and emotional uncertainty that would pervade when he's in the same room, or same space with Castiel. To some level, this tension is somewhat awkward, and it might not be all of Dean's doing. There is a constant awareness with Cas whenever Dean is near or around. An ever-present buzz under his skin, a leap that's always almost about to happen in that area around his chest. It's a low thrum of music in his veins that keeps him smiling throughout the day, and is always on the precipice of exploding into either an orchestra, or a pandemonium.

 

Months come and go, Dean would leave him little clues and pieces about himself, until everything unravels, and Castiel sees the whole picture of just who Dean Winchester is.

 

When flu season came, and Castiel caught the virus, he took a sick leave and came back to work after a week. Cas remembers finding a thermos in their work station with his name on a post-it note stuck to it. Inside had been lemon water with ginger and honey. Everyday that week, he'd have a thermos of that same concoction in the station waiting for him. And it had been Dean leaving it for him. For some reason, the guy would rather leave secret kind gestures like a trail behind him so that he won't be forced to deal with expressions of gratitude. Needless to say, Castiel's flu had no chance of ever coming back after that week.

 

When Castiel met Sam Winchester in a birthday party for one of Missouri's boys, he pieced together just how exactly Dean takes responsibility for his family. He learned that Sam was on a vacation from another state where he was studying law, and that Dean practically raised him and is the one who's paying for his schooling.

 

From Bobby who was at the same birthday party, he learned that Dean lost their mom when he was really young. He tried his best to be both a father and a brother for Sam when their dad had been absent and drinking. And that Dean skipped going to college in favor of working early to feed Sam, and send him to school. And that it just had been lately that he'd been able to take courses and get a certification as a healthcare aide.

 

Everything he thought about Dean before: being arrogant, and a bully, and spoiled, and a rich brat who is dispassionate about his work, is wrong. It's just wrong.

 

November comes in, and so does snow. A particularly cold, snowy night finds Castiel working an evening shift with Dilly in the South wing of the facility. Everything is going smoothly, the residents are all safely tucked in bed by a quarter and a half past eight. By nine, they are just answering call bells, and serving bedtime snacks. In the sitting room, the television blares a breaking news about an unexpected blizzard that night. By ten, the winds are howling and have picked up immensely; and at eleven-fifteen, the view from the floor to ceiling windows in the sunroom is a white frenzy of snow falling too fast and thick.

 

Castiel decides to move fast, leave work at the earliest allowed time, and catch the first bus from there. If he leaves now, he'll avoid the brunt of public transportation delays. He times out, gears up with a thick coat, a touk, warm gloves and snow boots. He heaves a heavy sigh as he takes a look outside, and see the pounding snow and wind hammer everything in sight. _Oh well, let's get the show on the road_.

 

Castiel steps out bravely into the blizzard, and treads his way in the ever-growing pile of snow towards the bus stop. By now, the snow on the ground has reached three inches, the winds are howling, and nothing can be seen a foot away. Cas reaches the bus stop, and he is thankful that it is glass-enclosed, and has a button that would start a heater from the ceiling enclosure. Ten minutes pass, and no bus ever came. A car or two would pass really, really slowly from time to time, but there isn't a lot of vehicles outside tonight, and for good reason.

 

Castiel refuses to lose hope at all. Another five minutes pass by, no sign of any vehicle on the road, and the snowfall has picked up cruelly. And then almost out of nowhere, a pair of headlights cut through the thick torrent of white. It is a black pick up truck that pulls up slowly right in front of the bus stop, halts to obscure Cas's view of the road or any oncoming bus, and then startles Castiel when the driver honks suddenly, obviously at him. It's very difficult for Cas to make out the vehicle and it takes him a few more seconds to recognize just whose vehicle it is.

 

Of course, it's Dean Winchester. Dean was working the evening shift on the other wing that night.

 

Dean honks again, and it moves Cas into action. He walks out of the glass shed and walks the small distance to the truck, the passenger door opens just as he gets near. Inside, Dean sits in the driver's seat looking livid while trying to scream words at Cas over the howl of the winds outside and the blare of the car heater.

 

"What the fuck are you doing out here?!"

 

"Trying to get home!" Cas shouts back over the noise.

 

"Will you get in?!!! I can't hear you!!!"

 

Castiel makes out the words, and gets in the car, sits in the passenger seat, and closes the door. He releases a sigh of relief as the enclosed space of Dean's truck shuts the noise outside, and the heated leather seat coaxes his body to heavenly warmth.

 

"Dude, are you crazy?!"

 

"Uh, is that a rhetorical question?"

 

"You're seriously hoping to catch a bus in this weather? To Red Deer?"

 

"I was hoping, yeah." Castiel takes off his gloves and warms his fingertips on the AC.

 

"You do know that if you do catch a bus, it's either you'll get home after five hours or you'll get stranded halfway through, right?" Dean admonishes.

 

"I know, Dean. I guess I was hoping for less worse conditions than this. But I have to get home, where else should I go?"

 

"I can't drive you home, Cas. I wouldn't even dare."

 

"I'm not asking you to."

 

"Well, you can't stay here."

 

There's a moment of silence broken only by the sound of the heater and the windshield wipers doing their best against the heavy snowfall on the glass.

 

"Don't worry about me. I'll manage, Dean."

 

"Like hell. Look man, just come with me. My place is just in downtown, not ten minutes away. You can crash there for the night."

 

"I have work tomorrow, Dean. And I don't have any spare clothes or scrubs."

 

"That's your problem about this? Seriously?" Deen peers at him sarcastically.

 

"I have a fully functioning washer and dryer, Cas. I have spare toothbrushes, underwear that's never been used. Knock yourself out."

 

Cas considers, he is absolutely tired and cold, and Dean's offer is so convenient and would fix all his problems this very moment.

 

"Look, man, I have scrub suits you can borrow. They're not drycleaned but they can get you through your shift tomorrow." Dean teases him. Cas rolls his eyes, can't help but laugh.

 

"Dean, if you're sure. I don't wanna impose."

 

"You're not imposing, I'm offering, alright?"

 

Cas looks at him, unsure.

 

"You know what, scratch that. _I'm_ imposing. You're coming with me, man." Dean dismisses him quickly, turns off the hazard, moves the gear into drive, and drives toward the road.

 

"You don't have a say in this, Cas. If I have to haul your ass off to go with me, I will." Dean further mutters more to himself than Castiel in the passenger seat.

 

"Dean?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Thank you. I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't come."

 

"'Course ya don't, Cas." Dean grins at him, and it makes his face look a lot younger, " 'Course ya don't."

 

\---

 

Now _this_ is _not_ Dean's fault. Cas needs a place to crash at, and Dean just so happened to have seen him freezing his ass out in the middle of a blizzard. What's a human being to do?

 

He drives into the thick haze of snowstorm, carefully and slowly. He sneaks glances at Cas, he looks tired and cold, and Dean just wants to enfold him in blankets, in something, _in his arms_?

 

"We'll be there soon, Cas."

 

\---

 

They reach the familiar lights of the downtown area. Dean drives carefully and later pulls over a condominium building, then drives into a basement parking entrance. They stop at a parking code meter, Dean rolls down his window and a blast of cold air and snow hit them in the face. Cas tries to cover up as Dean braves through it, and punches the right number combination on the keypad. The parking doors open, and Dean hurriedly drives inside, into warmth and safety. Castiel releases a heavy sigh at the sight of rows of neatly parked cars, shiny and dry under the fluorescent white lights of the parking area. Everything is so quiet and calm in here.

 

"Oh god, that was a ride." Castiel chuckles nervously.

 

"I know, man. I don't think anyone could survive an hour and a half of commute to Red Deer with that craze out there."

 

"I understand that now, okay?"

 

"I know, Cas. Sometimes you're just stubborn."

 

Cas tries not to smile. For some reason, Dean laced that whole statement with affection, and it makes Cas happy.

 

"Are we really having this conversation right now?" Cas says as Dean pulls up into his parking space. Beside it is a vintage black car that caught Cas's attention. They get off from Dean's pickup truck, and Cas eyes the really shiny, and obviously well-maintained Chevrolet.

 

"That's my baby." Cas hears Dean gruffly say behind him.

 

"Pardon me?"

 

"The car. It was uh, my dad's. It's a 1967 Chevrolet Impala."

 

Of course it's the car. _God, in what lifetime would Dean Winchester call you 'baby'?_

 

"I see. It's a beautiful vehicle, Dean."

 

"'Course I don't drive it in the winters. Baby's is allergic to snow."

 

They admire the car more, until Dean moves to lead Cas toward the elevator doors.

 

"Let's get inside, Cas."

 

Dean punches the number 13 button in the elevator. Within minutes, they are padding into the heated and carpeted hallway of the 13th floor. Dean stops in front of unit 1302, and opens the door with his key. He leads Castiel inside.

 

Castiel's first impression of Dean's condo unit is that it's very tidy. The floor is white and glass-tiled. The furniture are oak-brown and stainless steel. The space is sparsely furnished but very well-kept. To the left from the door is the living area facing floor to ceiling windows covered with blinds. There is a gray suede couch in that area, facing a medium-sized television set. No big home entertainment systems, just a small portable Bose speaker in one of the many open and bare shelves on the white walls. There are approximately two framed pictures in those shelves, one of Dean and Sam, and another of a woman with blonde curls and a charming smile. In between the TV and the couch is a round coffee table with a little green house plant in right in the middle.

 

To the right is the kitchen and dining area. An island counter with black granite top separates the dining hall from the cooking area. Castiel takes in the many stainless steel pots hanging from the kitchen cabinets. The dishwasher, oven, fridge are all stainless steel. Cabinets are all wood and painted dark-oak. It looks like a kitchen straight from Ikea. Castiel bets the drawers don't make a sound when shut.

 

"Wow, Dean. You have a beautiful home."  
  


"Thanks, Cas. It's fairly new. I don't know zilch about decorating so it kinda looks like a mausoleum." Dean deposits his keys on the kitchen counter, and starts taking his jackets off. Cas does the same.

 

"No, everything is tasteful. I love your kitchen. I mean, not that I cook or anything. But your kitchen is just elegant."

 

Dean smiles appreciatively at him, a little self-conscious.

 

"Yeah, I put most of the money there 'cause that's where I spend most of my time."

 

"Kitchen?"

 

"I love to cook. and bake."

 

Cas gapes at him because he could never have pegged Dean for the cooking/baking type. But then he'd been wrong about Dean about so many things.

 

"What?"

 

"Sorry, Dean. It's nothing, you just continue to surprise me."

 

"Oh yeah?" Dean levels his stare with him, with a positively sarcastic grin.

 

"Yes, okay?" Castiel rolls his eyes at him. Later, he asks Dean if he can use the bathroom.

 

"Uh, my only bathroom is through the bedroom, Cas. So, uh, over here."

 

Dean leads him to one of the two closed doors that obviously lead to closed quarters. Inside, dim lights switch on automatically. The floor changes here to hardwood. As with most of the unit, Dean's bedroom is barely furnished except for a queen-sized mattress with white sheets and pillows in the middle of the room, a single lamp set on the floor by the left side of the bed, a wooden cabinet of drawers pushed back onto the right wall of the room. On the left from the door where the wall should have been, are floor-to-ceiling windows consistent with the outside living area. The blinds are a half-mast, revealing the view of the blizzard outside, looking more and more dreary from the warmth and safety of Dean's home.

 

“This is honestly so beautiful, Dean.” Castiel hears himself say, more to himself than Dean, as he takes in everything.

 

He looks at Dean who is busy glancing at anything except Cas. A low blush creeps from his neck to his face, he's obviously very self-conscious and shy about his home, his home that he built for himself. Cas, for the life of him, cannot even imagine why.

 

“Uh, it's Sammy's last year in law school. And, I'm getting old, man.” There goes the self-depreciating chuckle again. “I decided to do something for myself last year. So I...invested in housing. I'm still deciding if I'm regretting it...I mean, don't get me wrong man, I busted my ass working two jobs, and...”

 

“Dean, stop.” Castiel decides to cut him off. “You never have to explain anything...to anyone. What did my brother used to say?” Castiel thinks about Gabriel, the only brother he has who he parted ways with a couple of years ago in favor of being in their own paths.

 

“Ah, he said, 'You go do you. To hell with what everyone else thinks.”

 

Dean gives him a meaningful look, and smiles appreciatively at him.

 

“Thanks, man. I guess I needed to hear that.”

 

Dean opens a the door to the bathroom, and hands Cas some towels. Cas mutters a quick 'thanks'.

 

“I'll uh, leave some clothes in the door knob for you to change in.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Thanks again, Dean.” He shuts the bathroom door and takes in Dean's bathroom, all black tile and granite. The shower has a glass enclosure, he runs the water, and Castiel doesn't waste another minute before he's stripped to nothing, and getting in the hot and glorious shower spray.

 

Castiel quickly dresses after showering, into Dean's gray band shirt, with AC/DC printed in front. Dean also left him two choices for bottomwear, a pair of drawstring jogging pants, and boxer shorts. Cas debates a second on wearing the jogging pants, but he knows he'll just be uncomfortable. So he puts on the boxer shorts. He strides in the kitchen afterwards, finding Dean by sink, washing some plates.

 

Dean looks at him, and appears to have seen a ghost for a second or two. But then, he quickly says, “I made you a sandwich,” which is not what Cas expects him to say at the least, but of which is Cas is very thankful for anyway because he's famished right now. Dean gestures, rather awkwardly, to the counter where a sandwich sits on a little platter, a glass of pineapple juice beside it.

 

“Oh, thank you, I'm...really hungry. I'm sorry I seem to be taking advantage of your kindness today.”

 

“The hell, Cas? Shut up, man. None of those bullshit words in my house.” Dean says scoldingly. “Eat.”

 

And Castiel does, happily.

 

“Listen, man, you need anything before I go to shower?”

 

That whole question almost gets Cas choking on his ham and egg sandwich. Images of Dean in the shower, against the black tiles, unclothed and wet, arm muscles taut as he leans his one hand in the wall, while the other is....

 

“Cas?”

 

Castiel shakes the image off, and drinks half of his juice in one go. _What the actual fuck..._

 

“Um, yes, Dean..” He's sure his whole face is beet red. “I just need one pillow and two blankets, please, if you have...”

 

Dean laughs at that, for some reason.

 

“That's right, you're a blanket hoarder.” Dean's eyes glint with mirth. “You know what, you can have my comforter. But there's this one little thing, Cas. You can't sleep on the living room couch.”

 

“Uh...”

 

“It's hella lumpy.” Dean says matter-of-factly. “When Sam went vacationing here, he brought his dog, Betsy. And I'm telling you, man, she made that couch her nest for two weeks. Slept, ate and peed in there.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Now, I'd offer you the guest bedroom, but it doesn't have a bed, and the whole room's filled with my stuff from my previous home that I haven't sorted out yet.” Dean sighs, and makes a move to soothe his temples with his hand, looks anywhere but at Cas. “'Probably do it in the spring, I don't know, I'll...” Cas realizes that Dean is just rambling now.

 

“It's okay, Dean. Of course, it's okay. I can sleep anywhere.” Gosh, he can sleep in the kitchen, in his bath, he's just dog-tired right now.

 

Dean looks at him this time, finally.

 

“Yeah?” His eyes light up a little, or Cas imagines. “You're not uncomfortable sharing the bed?”

 

 _Wha?_ Oh, the bed. Dean Winchester's bed.

 

“Nope. Actually I'm not. I'm just worried you might be.” Cas hears himself say.

 

“No.” Dean shakes his head no a little, continues to look away. “Make yourself at home, Cas. You can uh, got to bed. I'll just use the bathroom.”

 

Dean leaves him in the kitchen, with a half-eaten sandwich. Later he finds that Dean left him a toothbrush still in the package, with a little toothpaste right by the kitchen sink.

  
–

Dean finds Castiel sitting on the floor mattress, with his elbows resting on his knees as he browses through his phone. He looks hella tired. But Dean also thinks that he wants to always remember Cas looking like this, in his t-shirt and underwear. There's something so intimate, and domestic about Cas wearing his clothes.

 

“Jeez, Cas. Get in bed, you look like you could use some rest.” Yeah, he sounds casual enough, and not internally panicking about his own thoughts about his bed mate. Dean considers that a success somehow. He crosses the room, and pulls down the window blinds entirely. He then switches off the light in the room, so that the only light on is the bedside lamp and that from Cas's phone. Dean finally draws the blankets on his side of the bed, and settles in.

 

“Are you getting in bed soon?”

 

“Yeah,” Cas's voice is very gruff.

 

“Can I turn off the light?”

 

Cas looks at him then, and Dean grimaces inside because damn, Cas looks so good.

 

“Dean? Can I have more blankets?” he says softly, his face looking young and almost angelic in the lamplight.

 

Dean laughs because it's the better option against reaching over and burying his face right in Castiel's neck. Dean stands up and retrieves two more blankets in the closet, tosses them to the other man. Cas mutters a thanks, and settles in bed. Later, Dean looks over at Castiel's side to see him grinning happily at Dean, with only his face poking out of the mountain of sheets and comforter.

 

“Good night, Cas.” Dean says, as he turns back facing away from Cas, repressing all his energy to just pull Cas toward him, get in his warmth, in his mountain of sheets, and just feel Castiel's body on his.

 

_God, he's into deep._

 

What could be worse? What could be worse is when morning comes, and Castiel strides in the kitchen with a bed head that should be illegal in anywhere, United States. The guy is obviously not a morning person. Because when Dean greets him a good morning, Cas barely answers, just grunts at him, and then proceeds to sit on one of the high stools of the island, fucking drops his head on the counter top. If that's not the most adorable fucking thing.

 

Dean checks what he's feeling, as he makes another cup of coffee and can't help but smile while he's stirring the damned thing. _He's fucked. That's what it is, he's just fucked._

 

\---

 

Cas accepts Dean's coffee, the smell is amazing. He probably needs two more to be properly awake. He's not a morning person, never was. Dean pushes a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs and french toast toward him. Cas mutters a 'thank you, Dean.' He takes a bite of a bacon strip, and looks at his gracious host, _and hot,_ his brain supplies. Cas looks at his hot and gracious host, who is looking back at him with an amused twinkle in his eyes. They could never be more opposites right now. Dean looks freshly showered, and like he woke up two hours ago, had his morning exercise, and drank his protein shakes for breakfast. Whereas, Cas probably looks like he just climbed his way out of a shithole.

 

“Sorry, 'mnot awake right now.” He says, sincerely apologetic.

 

Dean laughs. _He's amazing._ Did Cas ever tell you that? Dean Winchester is just amazing.

 

They spend the morning in the living room couch, watching Netflix in companionable silence, with Cas wrapped in one of Dean's blankets and drinking his second cup of coffee.

 

It takes a while for Cas to finally notice.

 

The couch is not lumpy.

 

–--

 

They went to work that afternoon, together. The roads are a mess, and snow plow trucks are everywhere. And Dean's ears are still ringing from Castiel's endless 'thank yous”

 

That night, Dean finds himself walking to the South wing, looking for Castiel. He finds him busting his ass off, zooming here and there answering call bells.

 

“Busy shift?”

 

“I got an orientee.” Which means his partner, the orientee, is new, and is probably slowing the work down more than helping.

 

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.”

 

Dean stands by as Cas washes his hands in the sink in between patient handlings.

 

“Help me transfer Smith? Real quick? Are you on your break?” Cas looks at him expectantly. Dean feels a tingle of affection because Cas is just that comfortable asking him for help.

 

“Nope. Let's go.” He grins at Cas. They go inside a room where a little old woman, frail looking, with a very crooked hunchback, and silver hair on her head all over the place, sits gingerly in her too-big wheelchair.

 

“Hello, Nevetta. How's it going?” Dean greets the lady who's name is Nevetta Smith. Castiel puts on gloves and starts running the warm water in the sink by the bed.

 

“Not good, dear. I shat myself, and I'm ready for bed. Is that you, Dean?” Typical Nevetta, she's a very smart and sharp person, but is more and more often disagreeable and demanding especially when something doesn't go her way. She also cannot see very well and has a hearing aid but seems to have no problem eavesdropping in workplace gossip, and butting in conversations.

 

“You know it is. You're correct, Nevetta.” Dean indulges her and puts on gloves, as Castiel wipes her face and neck with a washcloth. Dean watches Castiel work, his brows gathered together in concentration, his hands gentle, and his lips whispering gentle instructions to the old woman.

 

“Why, if it isn't for Dean and Castiel, working together again.” Nevetta smiles like something about that fact amuses her entirely. She raises her both arms at Castiel's instruction and gentle prodding, so that he can help her out of her sweater.

 

“You bet.” Cas and Dean work together to put on a patient's blue gown on her. “Let's get you in bed, Nevetta.” They work together to put the transfer slings properly on the now quiet old lady.

 

“Listen, man,” says Dean to Cas. “Are you working tomorrow?”

 

“Uh, no. But I have class at 10 in the morning. You? Are you working?”

 

“Off day tomorrow.”

 

“Good for you.”

 

“Are you...going home tonight?” It's a very stupid question, Dean admits. He sees Cas physically stop in his tracks.

 

“I guess. I need to get my laptop.”

 

“I have a laptop.” And 22 Million other people, Dean. _God. What are you doing?_

 

Cas doesn't say anything, but is holding his breath like Dean is.

 

“Where's class?”

 

“Downtown.”

 

“Downtown where?”

 

“Bow Valley.”

 

“That's like a ten minute walk away from my place.”

 

They start hooking the slings up to the ceiling lift. Cas doesn't answer or look at him, and fumbles at the buttons in the controller. He finally presses the right button, and the ceiling lift hums as it raises Nevetta up from her seat in the wheelchair, up in the air. They move her towards the bed, suspended in mid-air.

 

Cas finally looks at Dean across the old woman hanging there patiently waiting to be brought down in the bed. There's a question in Cas's eyes, and an awkward silence between the three people in the room just before Dean says, “you can crash at my place again for the night.”

 

Cas's eyes never leave him, and no one probably moves or breathes for half a minute.

 

“For god's sake! Just fucking say yes! Get me the hell down from here!” Nevetta suddenly shouts angrily, and wiggles violently from the lift. This startles Castiel into action, so that he presses the button down to bring the lift down, and the old woman to bed.

 

“Say yes!” Nevetta barks grumpily at him.

 

“Yes, okay.” Castiel barks back like he wasn't allowed to even think about his answer.

 

“There's your answer, pretty. Ya can thank me later, clean me up first and tuck me in.” She tells Dean, patting his arm with her soft and frail hand.

 

And that's how Cas ends up sleeping in bed with him again that night.

 

–--

 

Cas is so not sure how it happened, but he finds himself in Dean's bed yet again that night, wearing the man's ACDC shirt, and his boxers, with Dean himself sleeping, not a foot away from him.

 

In the morning, Dean makes him coffee and breakfast, and coaxes him to the land of the living. In the spotless kitchen counter, a change of clothes, toothbrush and a laptop sit neatly, waiting for Cas.

 

If he'd have went home to Red Deer last night, he would have been awake at 6 am, and on his way to grueling commute right now, with nothing but coffee sloshing inside his stomach. He thanks Dean again.

 

“Will you stop with the thank you, man.”

“I feel like I'm overstaying my welcome.”

 

“I asked, okay? Stop it right now.” Dean is browsing Netflix again on the televsion set.

 

“Is this how you spend your off days?” Cas changes the subject.

 

“Yeah, Cas. I'm sadly a homebody who'd rather stay at home, cook or bake, and watch Netflix all day.” Dean sighs.

 

“Nothing sad about that.”

 

“But then again, it's shit out there today, right?” Dean gestures outside. “Did you see the state of the roads? Better to stay home. A perfectly reasonable excuse. Am I off the hook yet?”

 

“There's no need to be defensive, Dean. I'm the same. I don't have a very exciting life.” Castiel reaches for the laptop, opens it, and types in the website of the student portal of his college. Dean doesn't answer.

 

“And like, I'm game for anything, you know what I mean?” Castiel hears himself spilling some more, as he types in his student number. “It's just that I need an enabler, someone to do stuff with. Sadly, I don't have that kind of person in my life.” He types in the wrong password, and has to enter all info again.

 

It's quiet because Dean never answers him. Cas looks up to where Dean is seated in the couch. Dean is looking back towards Cas in the kitchen counter, his mouth agape, as if Cas sprouted wings or something.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, Cas.” He finally looks away. “Just that I know exactly what you mean.”

 

Something about that tugs at something inside Castiel.

 

“Listen, man. I know it probably sounds creepy, but...”

 

“What is it, Dean?”

 

“Have you not thought about moving to the city where it's closer to your work and school?”

 

Castiel stops what he's doing altogether.

 

“Some.”

 

“I can rent out my guest bedroom for you. I mean, I can clean it out. Sort stuff. Buy a bed, or you can move yours in, whatever, I don't care. You can move in in no time.” Cas realizes that Dean is out of breath.

 

“Uhhh...”

 

“If you don't want, it's okay too. It just seems more sensible, convenient. For you, I mean.”

 

“The reason I'm not able to move to the city is I can't find rent cost that is within my budget.”

 

“I'll rent out that room for 300, Cas.”

 

That startles Cas to immobility.

 

“Are you serious? Dean, you can rent out that space for twice that amount.”

 

\---

 

“Well...for you, it's gonna be 300. Utilities and wifi inclusive.” Dean says with a finality. Like the true businessman he is. Is he giving Cas an out in this? No he isn't. Because he's just that into Cas, he wants to fucking be with him. He admits it, finally and unequivocally. _He wants Cas._

 

They manage put off the whole moving in issue for a whole week, a whole month, seven months. In that span of seven months, they've had had fourteen Roadhouse hangouts, twenty times that Dean had to drive Cas home to Red Deer, eight sleepovers at Cas's place, _countless_ sleepovers at Dean's condo unit, even more countless coffees and breakfasts over Dean's kitchen counter, and probably more than a hundred Netflix movies between the two of them.

 

Dean had given Cas a key to the condo unit, and Cas would sometimes stay there, even though Dean is not home. He'd crash there in between classes and work hours. Dean wouldn't be surprised to find a sleeping Castiel in his bedroom in the middle of the day when he'd come home; and notebooks, papers and post-its would be strewn haphazardly in the bed and the floor. They're so accustomed to each other being in the other's private space. They've become that close.

 

By now, Dean has the image of Cas in the kitchen counter, pouring over textbooks and his Macbook propped open in front him, etched permanently in his brain. Dean had seen Cas through three major exam weeks, and is proud that he knows about the pathophysiology of various cardiovascular, respiratory, and neuromuscular diseases more than the average person, because he had been reviewing Cas during exams.

 

He's memorized Castiel's face, knows every mark, every line around his eyes, his forehead, the lines in his lips. He knows from looking at him in the mornings when he's still asleep. And he knows he's utterly fucked.

 

Also he's probably reached the maximum allowed number of jerk-off sessions and cold showers, that most possibly would last the lifetime of a normal human being.

 

“Are you and Cas dating?” Charlie blurts out, during one of their Roadhouse hangouts. Dean coughs into his beer bottle.

 

“Jesus, Charlie. Give a man some warning.”

 

Benny and Chuck snigger. Cas didn't come with them at the Roadhouse that night.

 

“No, we're not.” Dean wipes the spill of beer on the table with a napkin.  
  


“Are you fucking?” It was Gilda.

 

“Gilda!”

 

Benny roars into laughter, and Chuck snorts like he's actually, for once in his life, impressed about the turn of events.

 

“Well, we wanna know.”

 

“No, okay? No, we're not.”

 

“Do you wanna....fuck him?” It's fucking Charlie this time.

 

“Jesus Christ. Get me outta here.”

 

“Answer the question, loverboy.” says Benny.

 

Everyone's eyes are on him, waiting patiently for the truth. And they probably know the truth too. It's that obvious.

 

“What do you think?” Dean says quietly, looks at them. He answered the question, just not straightforwardly, but everyone gets it. And they all look at Dean somberly.

 

“Aw, honey...” Charlie moves to the seat next to him, gives him a hug.

 

“Well, you better move it, Dean. Meg'll probably beat you to it.” Chuck says.

 

“Yeah, Meg has her eyes on him from day one.” Gilda chimes in.

 

“What's stopping you, honey? He probably feels the same way about you.”

 

“He doesn't.” Dean sighs, and takes a shot.

 

–--

 

Dean probably doesn't feel the same way about him, Castiel thinks on his commute to work that morning. He's just a really good friend. _Don't kid yourself, Cas. He's the best friend you've never had._

 

Cas has been thinking a lot lately. He's decided two weeks ago, that if he's going to stop feeling these feelings for Dean, he should do something. Like stop with the fucking sleepovers, because honestly, _do friends do that? Same bed and all?_ Another thing that a friend doesn't do is jerk off to the thought of your friend, _Cas_ , or pop a boner in the middle of a work day thinking about your friend, _Cas._ And a friend certainly don't masturbate in bed with their friend sleeping ten inches away from them, looking at their friend's sleeping form, lips and eyelashes and freckles and all, like a fucking world-class creeper. _That's you, Cas._

 

 _When he's everything you think about, and you can't even do anything about it, it's just not healthy._ That's what Meg told him. Meg is the only person who knows about Castiel's emotional state. She thinks that Castiel is in love with Dean. And maybe he fucking is. Maybe he fucking is because every time he sees Dean these days, he wants to either tell him everything and kiss the daylights out of him, or rip off his own arm or an internal organ because he fucking can't do anything.

 

That night, he goes out with Meg again. Mostly during nights like these, Meg sits contently across from him, patiently listening to him bemoan about his heartaches involving exclusively Dean Winchester, as he slowly and surely plasters his brain out with alcohol. Meg would say a lazy comment now and again, with her low voice and sarcastic snickers. She is a good friend, who obviously has a masteral in psychoanalyzing unrequited love.

 

“You should be a psychologist.” Is the last thing he remembers saying before he blacks out.

 

–--

 

Dean is avoiding him. He's sure about that. It's been two weeks, and they hadn't said a thing to each other. He's not sure what happened. One day, Dean just started avoiding him, not talking to him, not even looking at him when they pass by each other in the hallways. The last conversation they had was in text, Dean had texted him to buy Chinese take-out if he's coming over for the night. And of course Cas had texted back that he wasn't sleeping over because he's trying to avoid the whole sleeping over thing.

 

Nothing after that.

And so Cas texts him, asking if he's mad at him. And Dean doesn't answer. Cas texts him if he's mad that Cas is not sleeping over anymore, no matter how immature that sounds. And Dean never replies to his texts. And it unnerves Cas to the point of heartbreak. It's depressing to not be able to talk, and be with Dean.

 

That's how he finds himself ringing the bell to Charlie and Gilda's apartment.

 

“Dude, you look like shit.” Charlie ushers him in.

 

“I've been feeling like. Shit.”

 

They sit in the little round kitchen table, and Cas buries his face in both hands.

 

Charlie zips here and there, boiling a kettle of water over the stove, and then cutting Cas a slice of pie from the fridge. She sits across from him.

 

“Pray tell, why Cas?”

 

“Dean.”

 

Charlie's eyes open bigger at him. “Did he tell you?”

 

_Tell me what?_

 

“What?” Cas looks at her severely, willing her to spill. What it is that he doesn't know? Because they should tell it to him now, at this moment, before he loses his goddamn mind.

 

“What the hell is it Charlie? Is there anything I should know? Because he's not speaking to me, he's not answering my texts or calls.”

 

Charlie has the look of someone who doesn't want the truth coming from her.  
  


“Please. It's killing me.”

 

“Wow.” She raises both her eyebrows at that. “It's killing you, huh?”

 

Cas looks suspiciously at her, almost annoyed.

 

“Are you in love with Dean?”

 

Cas waits a beat, sighs, and then buries his head in his arms on the table. He refuses to answer the question.

 

“If you are, why are dating Meg?”

 

Cas's ears perk up, _what the hell._ He looks up at Charlie, brows gathered together.

 

“I'm not dating Meg.”

 

“Well, you've been going out with her.”

 

“Yes, and I should probably stop. Because I'm not even paying her to listen to me talk about Dean every night.” Cas says, drearily. He doesn't care anymore that Charlie knows about his hopeless feelings towards Dean.

 

Charlie chokes on her tea.

"What do you mean? Is that what you've been doing with Meg this whole time?"

"Yes. She's a great friend who I don't deserve."

 

“Oh, my, fucking gosh.” Charlie says when she recovers, like she discovered the 118th element to join the periodic table.

 

“What?”

 

“Fucking go to Dean right now, Cas.” Charlie reaches over the table and holds both Castiel's arms, shakes him vigorously. “Fucking tell him that yourself.”

 

“What in the world is happening?” He's 100% confused, that's what.

 

“He's jealous. He's jealous of Meg, alright?”

 

“Wha-?” _Oh._ And then, _Is he?_ No he's not....couldn't be.... _Is he?_

 

“Charlie, you really think--?”

 

“You're an idiot, Cas. You both are,” Charlie starts rambling, almost hysterically. “He told me himself, okay? Fuuck, all this time--! Get fucking moving!” She gets up from her seat, hooks her arm under Cas's, stands him up, and leads him to the door.

 

_He told me himself._

 

Castiel stops in his tracks on their way to the door, facing Charlie and forcing her to look at him directly.

 

“Charlie, what exactly did he say?”

 

Charlie finally stops rambling, takes a deep breath, and beams up at Castiel. She leans up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Honey, he told me he's in love with you.”

 

Funny how a few words can hit you with happiness like a bullet on the back.

 

\--–

 

Dean is sitting on the couch, pretending to watch television. The blinds are drawn closed, and Dean is drinking his third glass of whiskey. His cellphone had been ringing from his room, and he's also been pretending that he hasn't been hearing it.

 

If he's really honest with himself, he misses Cas. And it took him a lot of self-control and energy to not text Cas back when he messaged him earlier this week. If he's really honest, he wants Cas with him, every day, every night. For, as long, as they both shall live. It should be easy, but it's so fucking not.

 

Is he jealous about Meg? _Fuck yes_. Is he worried that Cas and Meg would end up together? _Fuck yes._ Does it scare him that the made-up world he made with Cas however platonic they make it seem, is going to change because of Cas being with another person? _Fuck yes, he is._ He's so fucking scared he can't see straight when he thinks about it.

 

There's a sound of someone pushing keys in a keyhole, and the doorknob turning. He's not able to think for a second, because his brain is just that muzzy.

 

And before he can blink, Cas is standing there outside his door, wiping his boots on the floor mat. He looks up, and their eyes meet. Dean couldn't say anything, because, _what is there to say? Hey, what are you doing here? We're supposed to be in a fight??_ Right. Because that's just real mature.

 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel walks inside, closes the door behind him quietly. He takes his time taking off his jacket, and then his boots. Of course, Dean pretends not to notice him, and continues pretending he's watching TV.

 

Cas pads quietly, barefoot in the living room, around the couch, until he's seated as far away as possible in the other end.

 

“Are you investing in the stock market, Dean?”

 

Dean glances at him confusedly. And then sees that the TV is tuned into stock market trends.

 

“Probably should.”

 

Castiel nods non-judgmentally.

 

They sit there awkwardly for a good ten minutes. Dean doesn't change the channel. He is mostly aware of Castiel. He doesn't question why he's there, sitting on the couch, watching the stock market trends with him. Inside his chest, his heart is doing weird things. He probably should move, do something in the kitchen, lock himself up in his room, because he's gonna catch a heart attack just sitting there with Cas, waiting for him to say something.

 

And he does. After ten fucking minutes, Cas finally says something. And it might just give Dean a heart attack after all.

 

“This couch is not lumpy, Dean.”

 

–--

 

Dean is pretty sure he's a heartbeat that grew a person right now. He can feel his heart throb to his fingers, to his toes. Despite the fact that he can practically hear his blood course through the veins in his head, he gathers courage, and says the truth.

 

“No. It's not.”

 

“You lied.”

 

“I did.” He keeps a steel-like expression as he stares at the television screen.

 

Cas moves toward the coffee table, fucking grabs the remote control, and switches off the television.

 

“What are you doing?” He glances at Cas, but he's standing up, he walks the short distance that separated the two ends of the couch, stands right in front of Dean in a blur of events that Dean can't fucking wrap his head around. And then, Castiel fucking Novak was straddling his thighs and hips. He rests his arms on the back of the couch, as he looks down at Dean, his eyes holding him down, sure and steady. And it's the hottest thing Dean had ever seen in his life.

 

“Cas.”

 

Cas leans down an inch closer. “Yes?” He whispers to the small space between their mouths.

 

“Cas.” He's stupid brain can't fucking say anything else.

 

Cas fucking inches closer until his lips are slightly grazing his own, but not quite.

 

“Yes?” He whispers to Dean's lips. And he stays like that for what seem like an eternity, their eyes holding each other, their lips a whisper away, teasing. And Dean wants to explode, he wants to break into a million little pieces, he wants to finally kiss Castiel, he wants to sob like a baby in his arms. He just wants to be with him.

 

“Please just fucking move in.” Dean whispers into Castiel's lips, desperately and painfully. He has tears in his eyes, and Cas is wiping them away, silencing his sobs with soft _shhh's,_ nodding his head against Dean's.

 

“Shhh, Dean, it's okay. Yes, I'll fucking move in tomorrow, okay? Shh..”

 

“Are you and Meg--?”

 

“I'm in love with you. I've been for over a year now.”

 

Dean closes his eyes, reaches up to dry his eyes with his fingers. He then looks up at Cas, and holds Cas's face to his, with both hands steady.

 

“I'm going to kiss you, Cas. Okay?” Cas smiles almost shyly, and nods vigorously against Dean's hands. They are smiling as they move in to each other's space and finally kiss.

 

They kiss like that for some time, until Cas opens his mouth, probes Dean's lips with his tongue. Dean opens up, and lets him in, his tongue is gloriously wet. Cas has his arms around Dean's neck now, and Dean is achingly hard inside his pants. It doesn't help that Cas seems to be permanently grinding his hips on him, Dean feels his erection, a straight and hard line against his stomach. Dean can't help but grind back up, meeting Castiel's thrusts.

 

They are short of breath in no time. Dean comes up for air, and whispers Cas's name over and over. When he kisses Cas again, it's hot and heavy, and just ablaze. He buries both hands in Castiel's hair.

 

“God, you don't know how many times I fantasized about touching your hair, Cas.”

 

“Ungh.” Cas keeps grinding down on him, seeking friction on his cock.

 

He pulls his hair, to tilt his head back, exposing the column of Cas's neck. Dean devours his neck with open-mouthed kisses, he reaches the hem of Cas's shirt, snakes hand inside tracing the hard lines of Castiel's abs, his chest, his back muscles, between his shoulder blades. His hand trails against Cas's warm skin, until his fingers reach his nipple, Dean pinches it, and Cas archs his back.

 

“Oh, fuck.”

 

“Can I? Cas, can I fuck you?” He says urgently against Cas's hot skin. Cas looks at him in the eyes, and he sees the blue sky in them. Cas fumbles with his own pants, he unbuttons it, pushes down the jeans and his briefs as far as his straddling allows. And then Cas is taking out his weeping cock, jerking it as it peeks from the confining denim.

 

“Yes please, Dean.”

 

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean looks unashamedly at Cas's hand shuffling the head of his cock. He hurriedly takes off Cas's shirt and looks more as Cas jerks himself off. When he can't take it anymore, he picks up Cas from straddling him. Cas clings to him as he carries him to the bedroom, laving his tongue aginst his the other's.

 

Dean kneels on the bed, deposits Cas in the middle. Immediately, he takes off his own shirt, eyes watching Cas as the other man pushes his jeans and briefs down entirely, until he's able to kick them away. Castiel's dick is long and fat, and stands straight against his lean stomach. Dean doesn't waste time and sheds off his jeans and boxers, too. Within seconds, he's on top of Cas, they're cocks rubbing obscenely against each other, their pre-come are everywhere and it makes it just wetter. They slide against each other, crazed and breathing raggedly against each other's mouths.

 

It's Dean that breaks the movement because if he doesn't stop he's gonna come. So he kisses Cas some more, down his neck and chest, his stomach, open-mouthed hot kisses, tongue laving and leaving a trail of warm wetness in its wake. Until Dean reaches Castiel's groin, and he buries his nose in the dark hair that met there, he breathes all that is Cas, and starts a languid beat on Cas's cock with his hand. When he's sure Cas is on edge, he licks a wet stripe under Cas's dick, up to the bulbous head, and then he takes him completely in his mouth. He begins to suck him earnestly, and he looks at Cas, gripping at the sheets, losing his mind. It's so hot Dean could come from watching him like this.

 

“Dean!” Cas moves to bury his hands in Dean's hair, he grabs forcefully at the tiny strands. And Dean just can't help but moan on Castiel's cock. The vibration set Cas on edge, he thrashes like a mad man on the bed. Soon, he's thrusting in Dean's mouth, fucking it, hitting the back of his throat. Dean lets him, and he loves the taste of Cas so much he could probably die with that on his lips.

 

Dean calms him down with tiny kisses up again. He feels Cas's hand around his cock, and he thinks he comes a little as Cas does a little shuffle.

 

“Dean, where's the lube?”

 

It should be funny, but it's not. It's so fucking not. He reaches under the right pillow and unearths a bottle of squeezable lube. He kneels in between Cas's open legs and squeezes a sizable amount in the valleys where his legs and hips meet, so that the liquid trails back to his asshole.

 

He squeezes more into his fingers and...

 

“Get your fingers inside me.”

 

He inserts one finger in, and then two, scissors it inside, as Cas grunts in between pleasure and pain.

 

“Sorry, Cas, I..”

 

“Come on, two more.”

 

Dean inserts a third finger, and then a fourth, loosening Cas's asshole as he slides them in and out.

 

“Fuck me. Fuck me now.” Castiel pleads.

 

Dean panics a little. “Condom.”

 

“Dean, are you clean?” Castiel asks out of nowhere.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I am, too. Can we fuck now?”

 

Dean wastes no time, he pumps his cock with lube once, twice, and then he places himself in Castiel's entrance and breach the pucker of muscles of Castiel's asshole. He stops halfway, gives time to let Castiel adjust to his girth, until Cas starts whimpering and fucking begs for it.

 

“Want you to fuck me.”

 

And Dean slides the rest of his cock in, until it's up to the hilt. He moves to be on top of Cas, kisses him, and then buries his head on Cas's neck, sucks on the tender skin there. Then he moves his cock, in and out of Cas. At first a slow, steady beat. But then he feels Cas fucking into his cock frantically, pistoning his hips up to meet Dean's thrusts. And Dean just loses it, he feels everything. Cas's muscles enveloping him, milking his cock. Cas's arms raking marks on his back. Cas's soft, soft hair brushing the side of his face. Cas's warm and wet lips kissing his ears, whispering words on his skin, sometimes filthy, sometimes beautiful.

 

“Come inside, Dean.”

 

And he does, he explodes like he never did in his life. His cock lays spent, still inside Cas, throbbing still because Cas keeps clenching his muscles to milk him. He kisses Cas more, and finally moves to pull out of Cas. Dean moves quickly, he moves away, pushes Castiel's legs up to reveal his ass, and that ring of muscle leaking of his come. He catches the come from Cas's asshole in his mouth, tongues the tender flesh some more to get more of the semen. He sucks and keeps it in his mouth until he's sure he can't squeeze out more.

 

“Oh fuck, that's so hot, Dean.” Castiel is beautiful like this, sucking his own fingers in his mouth, his cock red and hard, and leaking. Dean moves to kneel in between Cas's legs, positions himself so that his mouth is far away up directly in line with Castiel's throbbing dick. He then, spits out the come in his mouth, thick and white and frothy, so that it slowly and deliciously drips down with a line of saliva on Castiel's cock. When Dean has spat it all, he jerks Cas's come-covered dick languidly, looking at Cas. And it's the dirtiest, most fucking delicious thing he's ever done in his whole life, and he's in love with Cas. For the life of him, he's in love with Cas.

 

He swallows once, and then the next moment, he's sucking Cas's cock in his mouth, tasting his own come and saliva on it. And Cas is just going crazy.

 

“Dean, I'm gonna come.” Cas tries to push him away, but he keeps his hands firmly on Castiel's hips. The other man frantically fucks his mouth, until he's coming in Dean's tongue, hitting the back of his throat. Dean swallows every last drop, until Cas's cock lays spent inside his mouth.

 

“Dean, come here. Please, come here.”

 

He goes to Cas, looks at his clearing eyes, and Dean can't help but smile affectionately. Cas leans up to kiss him, they're eyes shut into a close, and they get lost in the taste of each other.

 

Later, Dean slumps on the bed, Cas goes to him, buries his head where his neck and shoulder meet. Dean kisses his head and plays with his hair.

 

“I like your hair.”

 

“I like your—I like your everything.” Castiel's says against the skin on his neck. “I just really, really like you Dean.”

 

Dean grins at nothing in the room.

 

“Same.” Dean says, closing his eyes as sleep tries to claim him.

 

“Move in tomorrow?” He mutters at Castiel's hair.

 

“Yes. Move in tomorrow.” Cas pulls the comforter over them.

 

\---

 

Dean wakes up to Cas giving him the best blowjob he's ever had in his life. After he comes in Castiel's mouth, he pulls him up against him so that Cas is on top of him. They kiss and make out for half an hour before Dean hears Cas's stomach grumble.

 

“How about we go out for breakfast today?”

 

“Yes.” Cas says, child-like, like he didn't think about the question, and places a kiss on Dean's lips.

 

Fifteen minutes later, they're in a coffee shop down the road, four blocks from their condo unit. They are wearing touks and sweaters and scarves, drinking from their coffee cups by the window, giggling at each other like teenagers; as downtown passersby either ignore them, or smile at them because it's fucking obvious how smitten they are with each other.

 

“Move in today, alright?”

 

Castiel moves into his space, lingers just a few breaths away from his mouth.

 

“Yes, Dean. I'm going home with you from now on.”

 

And then, Dean just blurts it out, that thing he had been playing in his mind for months.

 

“Would you be opposed if I put a ring on it?”

 

Castiel's response is immediate and sure.

 

“No.” He shakes his head a little in that cute way of his. He fucking smiles up at Dean like he expected that shit, and says,

 

“You can have your way with me, Dean,” just before he claims Dean's lips.

 


End file.
